Away, Away! The Plains Of Ind Have Set Their Victim Free; I Give My Sorrows To The Wind, My Sun-Hat To The Sea; And, Standing With A Chosen Few, I Watch A Dying Glow, The Passing Of The Finest View That All The World Can Show. It Would Not Fire An Artist'S Eye, This View Whereof I Sing; Poets, No Doubt, Would Pass It By As Quite A Common Thing; The Tourist With Belittling Sniff Would Find No Beauties There - He Couldn't If He Would, And If He Could He Wouldn't Care. Only For Him That Turns The Back On Dark And Evil Days It Throws A Glory Down His Track That Sets His Heart Ablaze; A Charm To Make The Wounded Whole, Which Wearied Eyes May Draw Luxuriously Through The Soul, Like Cocktails Through A Straw. I Have Seen Strong Men Moved To Tears When Gazing O'Er The Deep, Hard Men, Whom I Have Known For Years, Nor Dreamt That They Could Weep; Even Myself, Though Stern And Cold Beyond The Common Line, Cannot, For Very Joy, Withhold The Tribute Of My Brine. Farewell, Farewell, Thou Best Of Views! I Leave Thee To Thy Pain, And, While I Have The Power To Choose, We Shall Not Meet Again; But, 'Mid The Scenes Of Joy And Mirth, My Fancies Oft Will Turn Back To The Finest Sight On Earth, The Bombay Lights - Astern!